Switch Hitter Steps Up to the Plate

This past week, Major League Baseball named former player, Billy Bean as the League’s first Ambassador for Inclusion. (No, that’s not him in the picture!) In accordance with the League’s policy forbidding players to harass or discriminate against other players based on sexual orientation, Bean will provide guidance, training and support for those in the LGBT community.

Last fall, I released SWITCH HITTER – Mustangs Baseball #4 – about a bisexual player and a gay player. I like to think all the players on my fictional baseball team represent real people, and Bentley Randolph and Sean Flannery are no exception. However, the book has received mixed reviews, but the one that sticks in my mind is a one star review from a woman who claims to be the wife of a Major League player. According to her, my book depicted unrealistic relationships and destroys the image of athletes.

I respectfully disagree with her statements. I think it’s completely unrealistic to think there are no gay, bisexual or transgender players within the League at this very moment. One of the reasons I wrote this particular story was to call attention to that very idea, and to show that a player’s sexual orientation has no bearing on his ability to play the game at the highest levels.

I’d love to hear what you have to say on the subject. Drop me a line below!

He’s at home on both sides of the plate.

Blurb –

Five years ago, switch-hitting left fielder, Bentley Randolph ran from his private shame and never looked back until the Mustangs new trade acquisition, Sean Flannery, walked into the locker room and laid him flat with a single punch, bringing the memories back in a flash of pain and humiliation. Unable to escape this time, Bentley has no choice but to face his complicated feelings for Sean, as well as the woman he loves.

Sean Flannery hasn’t forgotten the incident that changed his life or forgiven Bentley for the cowardly way he handled the encounter—asking to be traded to another team. Recently traded to the Mustangs himself, Sean is determined to keep his distance from the man of his dreams, up until the moment his fist connects with the left fielder’s face and the ensuing brawl on the locker room floor reveals something he never dared hope for—Bentley still wants him.

Here’s an excerpt from SWITCH HITTER.

Bentley gulped the beer, placed the empty bottle on the kitchen counter, and grabbed another from the still open refrigerator. The chilled air raised gooseflesh on his bare arms, but did nothing to cool his raging temper. Using his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow, he slumped against the counter and raised the bottle to his lips. The frosty liquid went down smooth, providing a momentary distraction.

His eye socket throbbed where the son of a bitch hit him.

Closing his eyes, he brought the cold bottle to his temple, gently rolling it over the tender flesh around his right eye. The bruising was going to be epic in a few hours. Just fuckin’ fantastic. With a little luck, he’d messed up Sean’s face, too. The asshole was too damn pretty for his own good.

An image formed in his pounding head. His cock sprang to attention. His stomach churned. Why Sean Flannery? He’d never had any reaction to a man before, and he damn sure didn’t want it now any more than he’d wanted it five years ago.

He rubbed his aching cock through his trousers. Shit. He’d hoped the intervening years along with the move to Dallas would have cured him of his perverse desires, but apparently, that wasn’t the case. All Sean needed to do was look at him and he got hard. It was those damn blue eyes of his. They did something to Bent, made him crazy because they saw too much. Saw things no one else did, things that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

Five fuckin’ years since he’d left the Pioneers, and he still remembered the kick to the gut that sent him running as clear as if it happened yesterday.

The circumstances hadn’t been unusual. Naked men in showers and locker rooms were a part of baseball, but they’d both been late leaving. He had no idea what Sean’s excuse had been, but he’d spent too much time with the trainers after the game. The locker room was empty when, naked, he’d headed to the shower.

He always remembered the moment in slow motion as if it had been over too soon, when in reality it seemed like forever. The hiss of water spraying, the plop-splatter of large soapy drops hitting the tile floor, beckoning his tired muscles. As soon as he breached the curtain of heat and humidity, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Sean Flannery stood there with his back to the open doorway. Desire hit Bentley like a wrecking ball to his gut. Blood rushed to his groin, short-circuiting his central nervous system and robbing him of good sense. He couldn’t move. His cock throbbed, demanding attention. He automatically fisted the heavy flesh, seeking relief he had no right wanting.

He watched, transfixed as Sean slicked his too-long black hair back from his face. Water sluiced over his muscled back forming a wide river running along the deep valley created by his shoulder blades. Bentley’s gaze followed the stream down, down…down to the first baseman’s tight ass. He couldn’t look away, could only stroke himself, imagining what it would be like to touch his perfect skin, to slide his cock between those taut cheeks, to command and possess such a glorious creature.

He had no idea how long he stood there holding himself…staring, creating fantasy after fantasy in his mind of them together, fucking, kissing—doing every perverted thing he could dream up. But then the object of his desire noticed. Bent felt like a deer in headlights, the car speeding right at him a hundred miles an hour. He knew he needed to get out of its way or die, but he couldn’t. The bright lights blinded him to the danger, held him enthralled, so deep down his fear became need.

When Sean twisted his torso, his chin skimming his shoulder like some fucking porn star, those goddamn blue headlights locked on him, he welcomed the head-on collision—anything to put him out of his misery, to end the sick, perverted thoughts running through his mind before he acted on them.

Sean took advantage of Bentley’s paralysis, looking his fill, his gaze pausing on his fisted erection, which just made the damn thing grow harder. Without a word, Sean turned so the shower beat against his back.

Bentley’s brain screamed, “Don’t look,” but the message from his cerebral cortex never made it to his eyes. His gaze traveled south. Water drops glistened on Sean’s bronzed chest, clung to whirls of dark hair matted over flat copper nipples. A smattering of hair arrowed downward, drawing his attention to an impressive erection.

His mouth went dry. His cock throbbed in his fist. Warning bells clanged in his head. What the fuck are you doing? Get out! Now! His gut twisted. Forbidden yearnings heated his blood, tightening his scrotum. Sweat stung his eyes. He was one dying brain cell away from dropping to his knees and sucking Sean’s enormous appendage into his mouth when the harsh clank of a door slamming nearby jolted him out of his stupor.

Fear of discovery doused his ardor faster than a cold shower. Breathing like a racehorse on the backstretch, he locked gazes with Sean who didn’t seem in the least disturbed by the encounter. The bastard pursed his lips in a mock kiss then turned around to resume his shower as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Bent’s stomach heaved. Panic released a flood of adrenaline, loosening the shackles of desire binding his feet. Turning, he fled to the restroom where he bowed to the porcelain god until his abdominal muscles cramped and his head felt like it might burst.

Five years later, the memory still made him harder than cured lumber, striking fear in his heart. He’d asked to be traded the next day. Within a week, he’d landed in Dallas. He’d faced Sean on the field over the years but managed to keep his distance. Until today.

In an instant, everything he’d felt in the Pioneers locker room rushed back in a tidal wave of wretched need and sickening desire. He had no idea why the fucker swung at him today, but he had. The instant Sean’s fist made contact with his face, something inside him burst loose.

Bent used the back of his hand to swipe at the tears streaming down his cheeks. Damn it. Fuck yeah. He’d wanted to hit Sean for years. Had dreamed of beating the shit out of the man. And, goddamn, it had felt so fucking good to touch him at last—to feel those muscles beneath him, the solid weight of Sean pressing into him as they rolled around on the floor.

After all the intervening years, not a goddamn thing had changed. He still wanted Sean Flannery.

He drained the bottle in his hand then opened another, slinking down to the floor, his back to the cabinets. Toeing off his shoes, he released his belt buckle with his free hand then fumbled with the zipper. His head hit the cupboard with a thump.

“Shit!”

Another long drag from the beer bottle then he gave in to his need. He worked his zipper down, sighing at the sheer relief of releasing his cock from its imprisonment. Drowning his desire with alcohol was useless. He’d tried it countless times since that day in the showers, to no avail. Desperate, he’d endeavored to bury his unholy need for Sean under a slew of women. One after another paraded through his life, until one, with her honesty and devotion, captured his heart.

Ashley made him forget about Sean. He’d even begun to think about marrying her, but hadn’t yet gotten up the nerve to pop the question. Thank God, she wasn’t home to see his sorry state or everything he’d built with her would be over.

Taking his dick in hand, he pumped, savoring the languid push and pull that couldn’t make him forget, but would at least give him a few seconds of peace. He worked his cock, while at the same time he tried to numb his brain with legal depressants. Watching the purple head rhythmically peek through the ring formed by his thumb and index finger, he thought about the fight. God, Sean was in great physical shape. His abs were sculpted marble, his arms, solid muscle. Those thighs! Oh man. He’d imagined how they would feel five years ago, but now he knew. There was strength there.

Bentley spit on his palm. Moments later, he gave up on saliva as a lubricant and poured the last of his beer into his lap, the cold brew was no match for the flame burning inside him. Scrunching his eyes tight, he pulled is knees up, letting them fall wide. He increased the tempo. With every slap against his pubic bone, he imagined it was the sound of Sean’s thighs slamming against his ass. The groans escaping his lips became his lover’s. When he came, spewing cum over his dress shirt, the name on his lips was one he hated.

2 Responses to Switch Hitter Steps Up to the Plate

I loved the premise, and the book! It’s a story: a what if, a why not. The characters were real men with real issues and feelings. A pox on small-minded individuals who can’t see beyond their own prejudices.

I, for one, loved this book. To say that there are no gay or bisexual players in MLB is absolutely ridiculous. They just hide in the closet because of the stigma still attached. OMG! A gay player in the locker room! He must be checking me out! Ugh.